


Killing Kal

by FauxPho



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Batjokes, Dark Ending, Dark fic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drama, Halloween, Little editing, M/M, No Beta, Rape/Non-con Elements, Read at Your Own Risk, SuperBat, actually dub con but tagging just in case, apologies in advance for any mistakes whatsoever, possibly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:14:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27317593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FauxPho/pseuds/FauxPho
Summary: For the Batsupes Community Event, Trick and Treats!Based on Holdt’s prompt, “Ghost(s) of Halloween Past”
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20
Collections: Batsupes Tricks & Treats 2020





	Killing Kal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Holdt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holdt/gifts).



> Heads up – this fic is a tad bit dark, at least 80% cacao made just for Holdt and (hopefully) their cup of tea- I hope you enjoy your Trick And Treat!

_Christmas lights were hanging around the Watchtower. Clark watched in amusement as Barry zoomed in, out, and around, merry just as the season dictated, and with good reason. Everyone was here. Diana wore a cute Mrs. Claus hat while Barry donned a pair of lit up reindeer antlers. Arthur smirked, an outrageous ugly Christmas sweater in place and Victor swatted at Barry as the Flash tried to get him to wear a green elf hat. Even Batman was here, in his full Christmas Bat regalia – his trusty old batsuit and a piece of green kryptonite in his belt buckle, Clark thought wryly. Though, with the soft smirk on Batman’s face, the Dark Knight couldn’t have found the Christmas Party totally insufferable.  
  
“Christmas really is truly magical,” Barry awed when Batman had first arrived.  
  
“You think Christmas is the most magical time of the year?” Superman could hear Zantanna’s eyebrow rise in challenge.  
  
“Well, then, what do you think it is?” Barry inquired, and Zantanna pressed on.  
  
“In Mexico, there’s a time where people come together to celebrate and remember loved ones who have passed away.”  
  
“I’ve heard of it,” Diana mused. “It’s a holiday where families come together to create an alter to invite the spirits back. It’s called __Día de Muertos – The Day of the Dead._ _”  
  
“A holiday where people come back from the dead,” Clark tilted his head in thought and crossed his arms. “That does sound pretty magical.”  
  
“Not just a day,” Zatanna went on, “but three. Three days of celebration. And during this time, the veils between worlds thin and spirits can pass from one world to the next.” Clark hmmmed and nodded over to Batman.  
  
“What do you think, Batman?” The Bat grunted, and while others rolled their eyes at his response, Clark smiled. Everyone let the subject go and went back to their festivities, and Clark almost forgot about their conversation.  
  
Almost.  
  
  
  
  
_It was Halloween. For once, the crime on the streets were quiet. Not too quiet, but quiet enough. It was only logical, with everything that had recently happened. Even the criminals were on their toes. And a night like tonight? On Halloween? Bruce guessed everyone, while enjoying the activities, was still holding their breath. Just waiting for the next tragedy to strike. Even the criminals were watching – waiting for the next big thing.  
  
Bruce stared down at a humble gravestone, a bouquet of local marigolds and other wildflowers in his hands. Supergirl had assured him that he could take the night off. She thought he deserved it. Whether or not he agreed, he could feel it in his bones. The need to visit this place. To confront things he never dare even glance at. Just for one night - one night to let it all go and put it all behind him. It wasn’t just for some emotional need. It was affecting his work. He needed to be back to top proficiency – to not let his thoughts distract him during any parts of the day and all parts of the night. And so he came to find closure. To digest everything that had happened, and to let it go.  
  
Bruce stood, his back to the wind, gazing down at the tombstone. A million thoughts crossing his mind. A million words on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill out, now that no one was around to hear him.  
  
A ghostly pair of familiar red boots step in front of the tombstone, blocking it from Bruce’s view. Of course, Bruce thought wryly as he breathed in deeply through his nose, his eyelashes fluttering closed. Of fucking course his subconsciousness would be acting up now. He knew he didn’t deserve this, standing in front his grave like he deserved to be here. So, considering his recent lack of sleep, tirelessly working from the recent events, it was only a matter of time before his mind would conjure up its own little trick for the holiday.  
  
“ _What are you doing here?_ ” an angry, low tenor of a ghostly voice rang loudly through Bruce’s head.  
  
Bruce swallowed. A hallucination. Exacerbated symptoms of trauma, anxiety, mood, and psychotic disorders due to extreme stress. Yes, that sounded about right.  
  
“ _You don’t deserve to be walking around, so carefree. How dare you? How dare you come to my grave, acting all innocent!”_ The voice, outraged, now yelling at Bruce.  
  
A mental image stemming from his recent trauma. Something Bruce noted. Not that he would talk to a therapist. He was self-aware enough to handle his own mental health, thank you very much Alfred. It was just due to recent events. Symptoms temporarily aggravated more than usual, mental health teetering over the edge, thus psychosis heightened, indirectly causing hallucinations.  
  
That’s all it was. Nothing more than a hallucination.  
  
But the hallucination. His voice – it sounded so real. As the visage cursed him more and more, and Bruce stood there, taking it all in, eventually the hallucination’s belligerent yells turned into soft whispers, insults into mourning pleas.  
  
“ _It didn’t – It didn’t have to be this way_ ,” choked an almost ethereal voice, its tenor a yearning whisper that rang loudly through Bruce’s head. Damn his hallucinations. Damn his subconsciousness. Damn his own curiousness as Bruce opened his eyes and looked up.  
  
There the hallucination stood. In all his Superman glory – in his signature red and blue spandex just as Bruce had last seen him. And his face – Bruce knew he shouldn’t have looked. His face was so, _so_ _Clark._ It had been a long time since Bruce had seen the other man’s brilliant cerulean eyes, full of earnest and open honesty. And now his eyes were also in so much pain. All because of him. Bruce immediately looked back down back to the tombstone. He couldn’t bear to look into those eyes, the eyes of the one he…

  
“ _Why Bruce….Why did you do this to me?_ ” A voice broken. Bruce swallowed. Hard.  
  
Sometimes when no one thinks no one is listening, people say things they wouldn’t normally say outloud. Things they would never share.  
  
“ _Bruce…I loved you.”_  
  
“I remember,” Bruce whispered, “When you first ask me to call you by name…”  
  
  
  
  
_“Thanks Batman for all of your help,” Clark said, his Kryptonian palms unnaturally sweaty. The infamous vigilante of Gotham (and also Clark’s favorite superhero) stood before him, his imposing figure and dark cape silhouetted again the sky. Clark had finished up dropping Lois Lane back to her apartment in Metropolis. The night was young, and the Bat was just starting his nightly rounds around Gotham. Lois had somehow gotten entangled in some drug ring that had connections in Gotham and before Clark knew it, he lucked out and was working together with Batman (fist pump), busting underground organized crime and rescuing Lois Lane. A dream come true. Clark had wanted to work closely with Batman for a while. The man was an enigma, but Clark knew there was more to him than the cold front he put on in front of the other League members. An opportunity to work closely and alone with his superhero co-worker (or crush, Ma would chuckle at him later when he retold the story) was an opportunity that Clark had been waiting for. After dropping off and receiving a kiss on the cheek from the starry-eyed female reporter, Clark had flown off only to realize Batman was just a few buildings away, watching the whole exchange. The vigilante, while distant and always scathing in his words, had his own set of morals and cared for others in their own way. It tingled Clark’s heart to see how the Bat had wanted to make sure Lois had gotten safe home too. Just another thing about Batman that made Clark feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  
  
“You should be more careful,” the Bat replied, and Clark resisted the urge to roll him eyes. A Bat scolding- how typical. Though, in retrospect this was a step up than the Bat’s usual silence or grunts. “We have very powerful enemies. You shouldn’t show such public displays of affections or your enemies will use those you love against you.” Clark chucked.  
  
“Look, Lois kissed me. I can’t help it if every damsel in distress- wait,” Clark’s brain started to catch up. “You think I love Lois?” Practically inaudible to the human ear, Clark heard Batman grumbling in his throat. Superman’s heart started soaring.  
  
“Bats-“ more grumbling at the nickname, “Lois isn’t anything to me-” well a close working co-worker, “and I have no intentions of getting together with her.” Clark couldn’t help but smile, his shy Kansas demeanor shining through his Superman person, “But thanks for looking out for me.” A little British voice was heard quietly saying something along the lines of, ‘Very astute work, World’s Greatest Detective.’ Clark’s smile widened. Batman’s frown deepened.  
  
Batman raised his arm to shoot his grappling gun. “Till next time, Kal.”  
  
“It’s Clark,” Clark blurted out, and Batman froze, looking back at him. Clark’s Kryptonian hands started sweating more. “It’s Clark. Not Kal.”  
  
“Clark,” Batman said slowly, as if tasting the name on his tongue. Clark swallowed, his heart beating faster than Barry running a marathon around the Watchtower. Batman turned back to the sky and shot his grappling gun. All after uttering one word. And Clark repeated it, feeling how the syllable felt around his mouth, how it seemed to fit his ally so perfectly.  
  
“Bruce.”_  
  
  
  
  
“You were beaming that day,” Bruce muttered, looking down at the tombstone. “No, you were beaming that whole week after that. I’m honestly surprised you were able to keep my name a secret from the other League member so long, seeing you were using it at every opportunity.”  
  
“ _I remember_ ,” the apparition voice was wistful. Bruce could hear the sad smile behind it. “ _You were always on my ass about it. ‘What if the others come by and hear?’”  
  
_“You were like one big puppy. A discreet puppy, but one nonetheless. In some ways, you were worse than Barry,” Bruce chuckled. “I knew…I knew you cared for me, but…” Bruce sighed and pondered his words. No one was listening afterall.  
  
“I’m a broken man, Clark. Damaged. Deranged. I could have never been worthy of you.”  
  
  
  
  
  
_“Superman. I need your assistance.”_  
  
_Hearing Bruce’s whisper for help, Clark rushed into the underground Gotham parking lot. From afar, he heard the Joker cackled, smashing his crowbar down, catching the blades on Batman’s gauntlet. Bruce was bleeding all over, blood trickling down his shoulders and legs.  
  
“Bats!” Clark yelled, and Joker turned to face him, smiling a sickly smile that turned Clark’s stomach sour.  
  
“Bats…?” Joker gleefully repeated, eyeing Clark with a crazed look.  
  
“Superman! The car!” Batman yelled. Clark turned to see a young girl stuck underneath a truck, her arm stuck underneath a tire. Her mother was right next to her, trying her best to push the vehicle.  
  
“Mom!!!” the little girl sobbed.  
  
“Shhh shhhh. It’s going to be alright,” the mother’s voice was full of conviction as she comforted the girl. As Superman turned to save the girl and her mother, a shot was rang out.  
  
“Superman!!!” Bruce yelled.  
  
Pain. There was pain. Clark pulled his hand from his stomach (when did it get there?) and saw red. Kryptonian bullets. The Man of Steel fell to his knees as another two shots were fired. Joker’s cackling barely registered in his ears.  
  
Superman laid on the floor, blood seeping from his wounds. One in his stomach. The second in his chest. A third…unaccounted for. Maybe his arm? Clark wasn’t really sure. He lied on the floor, sick and dizzy, blood pooling all around him. His cheek touching the cool, bloody wet floor as he watched the mother and daughter he had tried to save. Watched as the mother gripped the bottom of the car and scream as she lifted the vehicle a few inches. Watched as the little girl, still crying, crawled out from underneath the car, grasping her arm. Watched as they ran away. Watched the empty space they were in. Watched as Bruce’s – no Batman’s – face entered his vision, the vigilante’s saying words, but none reaching Clark’s ears. The lights in the parking garage seemed to be getting darker. Batman was saying something, but Clark didn’t catch it.  
  
“Glad-” Clark coughed out, the taste of blood on his tongue and in his throat, “Glad you’re okay.”  
  
And then all went black.  
  
\---  
  
_“ _Bruce.”  
  
The infirmary. Clark recognized the scent first. It was one that he had become well acquainted with, especially with all the times Bruce had been admitted. Clark remembered all the times he sat by Bruce’s bedside in that ugly red chair that Barry had insisted on getting. Now here Clark was, in bed, with Batman cape hanging off the edges of the chair, cowl pushed back. Clark looked up at Bruce dazedly. It had never occurred to him after all this time their roles would be reversed.  
  
“Clark.” Clark smiled. “How are you feeling.”  
  
“Alive.” Bruce snorted, and Clark’s smile widened. Now fully awake, Clark took in the dark circles under Bruce’s eyes, crows feet more pronounced than usual, the older man’s hand holding Clark’s own. “How long have I been out?”  
  
“Two weeks.” Clark swallowed. Far too long. He dreaded to think how his workplace was handling it. He groaned at the thought, and Bruce tensed. “My boss is going to kill me.”  
  
“No he isn’t,” Bruce replied, relaxing in his chair, a slanted smirk easing into his face. Clark raised an eyebrow. “I made sure of it.” The other eyebrow raised.  
  
“Howso?”  
  
“I bought the Daily Planet.” Clark balked, and the recomposed himself, not to be drawn in by Bruce’s smirk.  
  
“The whole Daily Planet?”  
  
“It’s like a reflex with me. I don’t know.”  
  
Silence – quite dichotomous to rush of blood roaring in Clark’s ears. Clark rolled his eyes, turning his head to the other side to hide his smile at the billionaire’s audacity and to hide from the full out shark like grin growing on the older man’s face. He bit his lip in retaliation of its treacherous behavior, and turned to look at Bruce again. Now the man was full out smirking at him. As if his face couldn’t get more red, Clark felt heat reach all the way down his neck, and, as impossible as Clark thought it was, Bruce’s grin widened even more. Coughing, Clark tried to cut away the tension.  
  
“Whatever happened to that girl and her mother?” Bruce raised an eyebrow.  
  
“They got away. The girl had a broken arm, nothing too serious. She’s wearing a cast and bragging to all the kids at school how she was saved by Batman and Superman.” The two men smiled at each other.  
  
“So, you got them out safely,” Clark clarified. Bruce shook his head.  
  
“No, they got out on their own.” Clark blinked.  
  
“So…It wasn’t a hallucination.” Bruce raised an eyebrow, a silent request to explain. Clark took a deep breath. “I saw…I saw the mother pick up the truck the little girl was under. No person could just do that. So I thought…”  
  
“You thought it was a hallucination.” Bruce finished. Clark nodded and Bruce tapped his the arm of his chair thoughtfully. “While unusual, it’s not unheard of. Great acts from us mere humans in times of need. No super strength, no super abilities. Just one hundred percent raw human power.”  
  
“That’s…amazing. How do you know about this?” Bruce chuckled.  
  
“I’m a vigilante always looking for ways to be stronger…and for other beings of great strength. Coming upon this knowledge was inevitable.” Clark nodded dimly in understanding. He was starting to get tired again.  
  
“People are….so amazing,” Clark slurred out, the IV meds catching up to him. “Do you know what causes it?” Surely it was much more than just adrenaline. A mother picking a truck off her daughter? “What kind of hidden power could people have that make a normal person that strong? To be able to do the impossible?”  
  
A cool hand touched Clark’s forehead. Clark opened his eyes (when did they close?) to find Bruce close to his face. His face was relaxed, a soft smile, the lines of stress from over the years soft instead of hard. It wasn’t his Brucie face full of fake grins. It’s wasn’t his Bat face hardened by underground wars. It was…something Clark vowed to keep stored in his memories forever.  
  
“Get some sleep Clark.” Clark opened his mouth to reply, but before he knew it, he was fast asleep, the feeling Bruce’s hand still clasped in his.  
  
  
  
  
_“At one point, I had thought maybe we could make this work? But I’m a broken man, Clark. A deranged person. I couldn’t possibly be with you and break you too. I wasn’t worthy of you, Clark. Not someone as damaged as I am. You didn’t see it at first, of course. How broken I was. But the truth always comes out.” _  
  
_  
  
  
_The first thing Clark felt was a sickening feeling, in the pits of his stomach. A familiar, green, sickly feeling, one that he, unfortunately, had become very well acquainted with. It started with his stomach, and then spread to his limbs – his legs, his arms, his head.  
  
And by God his head- he weakly opened his eyes only to immediately close them - his vision swam unbearably, fluorescent lights burning his eyes. He groaned. Where was he? The last time thing he remembered was Lex Luthor. That’s right. Clark and Bruce – Batman – had been fighting side by side. The league members were off fighting robots made by Lexcorp, and he and Batman had rushed ahead to meet Luthor. Once caught, there was no way Luthor could get out of this mess. The jig was up, and Clark was overly excited to get Luthor behind bars. So excited, that he rushed in, ignoring Batman’s warnings. And suddenly, all he saw was green.  
  
Clark groaned. Bruce was definitely going to lay it on him later. His stomach reared its ugly head - he was on the verge of throwing up, but at least his vision was getting better. Clark concentrated on his other senses. And that’s when he heard it. A static like voice from a communicator.  
  
“Bat-syyyy. Oh Bat-syyyyy! You want this huh? You like it like this, don’t you?”  
  
Clark snapped his eyes open again, only to close them, and then blinked blearily to make out what he saw. He was in a room, handcuffed to a chair – kryptonite handcuffs, of course – and a window straight in front of him. A two way mirrored window leading straight to a police station’s interrogation room, and on that other side…  
  
Clark’s eyes widened against the bright light of the room, his heart going ice cold, as he saw Batman, hands bound and laying on his back, the Joker twiddling with a knife, tearing as what little shreds there were on the bottom of the Batsuit. Nicks of blood traveled where the knife got too deep while cutting away the under armor under the Batsuit. Clark couldn’t hear Bruce’s breathing or his heartrate, but he could see Bruce taking deep, rhythmic breaths, his chest heaving on every calculated inhale. In four. Hold four. Out four. In four. Hold four. Out four.  
  
“Batman!” Clark yelled out, pulling on his restraints. But to no avail. Damnit, Luthor! Pieces of information started coming together. Luthor and Joker were working together. That’s why Joker had kryptonite bullets before. The thought tasted bitter in Clark’s mouth.  
  
The Joker cackled as he trailed the knife down Batman’s bottom half. With only shreds of skintight black Kevlar and under armor remaining, Batman was exposed with nothing left to imagination. Joker slid the knife’s flat edge pressing against hip and pubic bone, skittering close to delicate places, the knife’s edge glinting off of the interrogation’s room’s fluorescent lighting.  
  
“Bat-sy, oh Bat-sy. Isn’t this fun? Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted to do?” Joker slid the knife further and further, trailing the base of Bruce’s dick now. Clark’s held his breath as the Joker curled the knife round and round. Clark watched helplessly as Batman breathed. In four. Hold four. Out four. In four. Hold – a nick – three. Out four. Clark jostled and yelled, pulling as much as he could against the restraints. But the kryptonite handcuffs held Clark firmly back.  
  
“Isn’t **this** ,” the Joker’s voice lowered into a menacing growl, his tongue licking his lips insatiably, “ **What you always wanted to do**?” He leaned back, unbuttoning his trousers. Clark watched in horror as the Joker pulls out his erection, thick and veiny, and positioned it right at Batman – Bruce’s – unprotected hole.  
  
“Isn’t it Bat-sy?” Joker cooed as Bruce bites his lips, his dick sliding into Bruce’s ass. His voice goes darker and he growls, hatred and madness pouring from his eyes. “ **Isn’t it?** ”  
  
Clark roared, lunging forward, the cuffs on his wrists burning, his skin weakened by kryptonite. He wheezed, short intakes of breaths as he watched helplessly as the Joker rammed into Bruce, every inch of his horrid white cock a stark contrast again the black shredded remains of Batman’s lower half. Bruce grunted against Joker’s onslaught, and Clark lunged again. His friend, his comrade, his –Bruce was getting violated in the worst of ways **right in front of him** and the Joker with his ghastly green hair sneered.  
  
“You like this, don’t you Bat-sy? You liked getting your little prissy hole fucked by Big Bad Joker, don’t you?” Joker licked Bruce’s uncovered ear and then rammed in a particular way, causing Bruce to gasp, blood starting to trickle from his bottom lip that he had been biting, trying so hard not to say a word. Tears sprung from the corners of Clark’s eyes as he struggled towards the window. Fucking Joker for doing this to Bruce. Fucking Luthor for helping Joker. Fucking Clark for falling for their traps when Bruce had **warned him** , had told him not to go barging in-  
  
Bruce cried out, and Clark choked on his own saliva. The kryptonite lined handcuffs burned. They were too strong, too powerful. Too powerful for Superman. Clark felt his stomach rear up again, and his bent over, his pressing his forehead against the cool flooring.  
  
“C’mon,” Joker’s silky voice urged, his whisper coming through the interrogation room’s coms like a loud roar. “Tell me, Bat-sy. Tell me how much you want it.”  
  
And Clark looked up. And there Bruce was, glaring at Joker, grimacing at every thrust, with his legs wrapped around Joker’s waist- _

_Wait._

_Bruce’s locked his ankles together, squeezing his thighs, causing the Joker to go deeper, to get closer-_

_What?  
  
Clark’s mind stopped. Or perhaps it raced. Like a train going a thousand miles per minute, his journalist mind awoken to catch up to his superhero’s ‘act first, think later’ mentality.  
  
His legs were wrapped around the Joker’s waist.  
  
Had Bruce ever looked like his was trying to push the Joker away?  
  
Were his hands truly struggling against the bonds?  
  
Had Bruce ever told Joker to stop? Did…Did Bruce ever say no?  
  
Clark looked on as the Joker unhooked one of Bruce’s ankles, and repositioned it over his shoulder as he rammed into Batman, and that’s when Clark’s stomach decided to throw up.  
  
The taste of pure stomach acid on his tongue, dizzying kryptonite handcuff burning his wrists, his mind, his heart, Clark watched on, dazed, mind half gone, and Joker fucked Bruce. And as Joker’s movements became more frenzied, Clark almost missed Joker bend over Bruce’s body, sneering at the interrogation’s window as he muttered something into Batman’s ear. Bruce’s eyes widened and he snapped his head to look at the two way mirror.  
  
“Get the fuck off of me!” Bruce yelled, his voice echoing off inside the walls. Clark’s head snapped up, watching how Bruce’s legs kicked wildly, his arms pulling at his restraints._

_“Hee hee hee hee! What, you don’t like an audience Bat-sy? But I thought you were an exhibitionist? What, with all that press you get all the time, with all the pictures of you with those girls on the tabloids. And isn’t this what you like? Isn’t this what he calls you? Bats – Bat-sy! It’s all the same. Hee hee! Ha ha hooooooo!!!”  
  
Clark watched on, eyes impossibly red, as Bruce screamed, legs kicking, Joker laughing. Clark roared, as he pulled on his handcuffs with renewed vigor. All he could hear was Bruce’s screams, all he could see Bruce’s glare turning to one of terror, his legs hiked over Joker’s shoulders, his arms thrashing as much as they could against his cuffs. Clark couldn’t hear the sound of his own cuffs breaking or the breaking of glass. He couldn’t see the Joker’s face’s as his fist met unnaturally white skin.  
  
“Clark! **Clark!”** Clark stopped, his fist inches away from Batman’s face – half his cowl gone, ripped to shreds. The Joker laid behind Bruce, somehow now in the listening part of the interrogation room. Clark must have thrown him in there. Clark didn’t remember that.  
  
“He-“ Clark choked, scrambling for words. His arm shook. His whole body shook.  
  
“Superman,” Batman growled, his voice low. A black gauntlet covered hand went to cover Clark’s fist, and Clark moved his hand to intertwine Bruce’s, and pulled him in. Chest against chest, Clark buried his head into Batman’s shoulder and neck. Soon all the words that Clark couldn’t say before came tumbling out.  
  
“He **hurt** you! He touched you! And I-“  
  
“Superman! Get a hold of yourself!” the Bat barked, pushing Clark away. Clark stared wide eyed at Batman, his insides as cold as ice.  
  
“Do you love him,” Clark’s voice cracked. He looked up at Batman, his innocent baby blue eyes still wet. The Bat stared. Bruce stared.  
  
“Whoooo ha ha ha heee hee hee heeeee!!!!”  
  
Both superheroes jolted, turning to see the Joker laughing, laying weakly on the floor, in no position to be able to help himself up. Not after what Superman did to him. Bruce stomped forward, batcuffs already out of his belt._

_“C’mon Superman. We have a job to do.”  
  
Clark watched, still in shock, his heart like ice in his chest as Batman worked, his suit torn to shreds, white slick falling from his ass. He watched helplessly as the Joker, jaw, legs, and arms broken, as the villian was bound to the chair. He watched in horror as the Joker opened his cracked lips, red as blood, eyes glinting like a thousand blades as the madman laughed and laughed and laughed…  
_  
  
  
  
“Do you hate me?” Bruce laughed weakly. The apparition had long since gone silent. “Do you see now? How truly vile I am?”  
  
  
  
  
_Clark punched another burglar in the face, his mind elsewhere. Bullets shot at him and he hardly noticed, only vaguely registering Batman yell his name. All he could see was a white skin covering Bruce’s – a flurry of movements, Joker’s dick up Bruce’s ass, cum on the floor, gritting of teeth, a flash of unnaturally white teeth, grinding of Bruce’s veneers, ankles hooking together, pulling Joker in tighter, breathes coming out in short huffs-_

_“-erman! **Clark**! Snap out of it!”  
  
Clark jolted, snapping back to reality. All the robbers were on the ground, unconscious. Batman looked at him, his eyes livid.  
  
“Superman,” Bats – no Batman, growled. A tone of warning. And Clark knew, because while he knew the Batman, that underneath there was also Bruce. A tone of concern.  
  
“Sorry,” Superman chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “I guess my mind was somewhere’s else.”  
  
“You mind,” Batman growled, “will cost someone their lives. The very ones you swore to protect.” Superman’s eyes lowered guiltily, his smile still plastered on his face like a shield. “You weren’t paying attention. No, you still were able to hold your strength back, but you failed to take into consideration the shots they were taking at you. Bullets were ricocheting off your body and flying in all directions. You may be invincible Superman, but the rest of us aren’t.”  
  
I know that all too well, Clark thought as he looked over Batman’s face, the older man’s bottom lip split from a particularly well landed punch. While seemingly absent in the face of Superman with the exception of Krytonite, mortality was ever so eternally present in the presence of Batman. Drops of crimson dripped down his lip –_

**_Bruce yelled out, releasing his bottom lip, no longer able to hold in his cries. The Joker leered and, pressing forward, licked the blood from Bruce’s chin, up to his lips. His tongue, diving deep into Bruce’s molten hot cavern, smearing blood all over his mouth. All the while, staring at the glass. Staring at Clark._ ** _  
  
“Clark!”  
  
“I’m fine,” Clark blurted out. Bruce’s eyes narrowed. Even as Bruce was hunched over, tying criminals up, eyeing Clark from below, his Bat Glare was still effective.  
  
“Watchtower conference room. Thirty minutes.” Clark swallowed at Bruce’s command, no doubt Batman catching it. It didn’t even seem like he was paying the criminals much attention now, his eyes scanning Superman only to land on cerulean eyes and dive deep. Clark looked away. He could hear Bruce clenching his teeth. When he finally looked up, Batman was gone, leaving Superman alone in an alleyway full of tied up criminals.  
  
  
\---_

_“You need to snap out of it.”  
  
Clark closed his eyes. Breathed in through his nose deeply. Yes, he could get through this.  
  
“Right.”  
  
“Your behavior is affecting your fighting abilities. You’re not fighting alone Superman – your inattention is affecting the team and the mission. You need to be on point.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Super strength can only get you so far. You need to use your brain! Get your head out of your ass and into the battlefield!”  
  
“I understand.”  
  
“God damnit, Clark! Are you even listening to me!” Bruce slammed his fist on the table. Clark looked up. Bruce’s eyes, his beautiful blue eyes, as deep and as unknown as the ocean, stared back at him. His eyes, so magnetic and alluring, Clark couldn’t help but speak his truth when he looked into those sapphire depths.  
  
“Why did you…” Clark stopped. The words wouldn’t come. Bruce’s eyes wavered. Clark swallowed and started again. “Why did…” It just didn’t come out. Bruce looked away, and Clark’s stomach churned.  
  
“For fuck's sake, Bruce! Why!” This time it was Clark’s fist that hit the table and now it was Bruce who was looking away. It infuriated Clark. Batman – Bruce, never looked away. Unless it was him.  
  
Heart almost torn to shreds, Clark strode over and took Bruce’s head into his hands to look him in the face. Bruce closed his eyes and Clark felt tears in the corners of his eyes.  
  
“Please, Bruce. Look at me.” Clark desperately whispered.  
  
What do you even see in him?  
  
“Please.”  
  
What does he have that I don’t?  
  
“Bruce, I…”  
  
Please, Bruce, Clark internally begged. You’re killing me.  
  
But for all the internal begging Clark did, Bruce kept his eyes closed. And Clark’s heart shattered just a little more._

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 2 coming soon!


End file.
